


Extended Transmission: Sick

by cybernya



Series: Translation Error [2]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23054518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybernya/pseuds/cybernya
Summary: The Communications Officer has a nasty cough. Wolffe makes things better.
Relationships: CC-3636 | Wolffe/Original Character(s), CC-3636 | Wolffe/Reader
Series: Translation Error [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656553
Comments: 4
Kudos: 90





	Extended Transmission: Sick

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes things just don’t fit within the story (or won’t fit within the story for a while) and i want to write them anyway. anythign with "extended transmission" can generally be read without knowledge of translation error's plot, which is why i'm not gonna stick them together as a multi-chapter work.
> 
> also... i’ve been sick and haven’t shut up about it, so here’s some wolffe taking care of his alor’ika after they’ve gotten closer.

It starts with a tickle in the back of your throat one evening.

You don’t think too much about it - just drink a little bit more water that evening and end it curled up under your blankets.

The next morning, your throat feels tight and you take some low-grade painkillers to take the edge off. You have a cough, but it’s not persistent; you putter around the  _ Constellation _ as you would normally, muffling yourself with the crook of your elbow.

Sinker raises an eyebrow at you - you haven’t been sick since Bakura and he’d kindly like to forget what  _ that _ was like. 

You smile and shrug it off. “It’s nothing,” you manage, clearing your throat.

“I sure hope so,” the sergeant replies, shaking his head.

You did too. A pool of worry finds itself at the bottom of your stomach as you crawl into bed - your chest is tight and you feel  _ wheezy, _ but that’s nothing a little medicine can’t fix. You’d slipped to the medbay to get some after your meeting with the other communications officers, wheezing as a coughing fit wracked your body. It was some fruit-flavor you can’t really quite place, but thankfully not bitter. (Starcherry flavor was your  _ least  _ favorite flavor and you were glad you convinced the nurse you give you something more tropical.)

You wake up again, throat dry and scratchy as you adjust the blanket that covers you. You faintly recall your schedule, staring up at the ceiling as you think about the briefing meeting you have to present at. Sleep eluded you - the tightness in your chest was uncomfortable and kept you from falling asleep with the occasional cough. 

It was going to be a rough day if you couldn’t shake whatever gunk is crawling through your body.

Your breath is wheezy - more so that the night before, breathing feeling more like a challenge than a normal occurrence. The thought of steaming yourself in the refresher, even if brief, is enough to pull you from your bed, tossing the blankets aside as you hobble off to the communal space. 

Under the lights, you look a little pale - nothing out of the normal, but the bags under your eyes look darker and you don’t look as bright or energetic as you usually do. Thankfully, no one stops you as you slip into a shower stall, cranking the water to a temperature that was most likely too hot.

Once the steam starts rolling in, you feel a little bit better - deep breaths, in, out, and you feel less congested, the pressure in your face starting to dissipate. You twist, reaching for your soap and the movement is too quick. You double over into a coughing fit, loud and  _ ugly _ sounding as you hack away for a solid twenty seconds. As you stand upright, you clear your throat; hopefully, no one has heard you. 

(Unfortunately, someone did - Sinker hears you hacking away as he dips in to take a piss. He’s a bit startled by the noise and hopes it’s nothing serious…)

You have a few more coughing fits - not as long, but just as dry and irritating - and prayed to whoever was out there that you’d be able to make it through the briefing  _ without _ hacking up a lung like you nearly did in the shower.

Your chest feels tight and you notice the shower didn’t help much - you’re wheezing when you breathe, sharp and shallow due to the constriction and inflammation you definitely have. The medbay can wait, though, as you suck on a cough drop and run to the briefing room. Your cough wasn’t that bad, anyway...

“Made it,” you laugh, a cough bubbling in your chest as you catch your breath.

Sinker casts a worried look your way, but you don’t catch it.

The briefing is a bit of a mess - it starts off well, with your throat only tightening as you speak, until you have to deliver your data about the population of the next planet you’ll be visiting. Your fits sound like a bark as you cough into the crook of your elbow, turning away from Wolffe, Sinker, and General Plo Koon.

“We could have rescheduled this if you were not feeling well, Officer,” the Jedi offers, head tilted in concern.

“I’m fine, really,” you say, turning back around. “Thank you for your concern.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Sinker whispers under his breath, pulling Wolffe aside to say something in his ear that causes the commander’s jaw to set firmly.

You find that, even after constantly sipping from your canteen, your cough hurts. It echoes down the hallway on your way back to the racks, and you sigh out of irritation.

“ _ Alor’ika _ ,” Wolffe calls from behind you, causing you to jump and sputter.

“Wolffe,” you cough out, “is something wrong?”

“Are you feeling well?” The Commander’s eyes search your face as you nod your head.

“Yeah, just got a little cough. I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning,” you shrug, dodging his eye contact. 

“You need to take care of yourself,” Wolffe mumbles, shaking his head. His hand finds your cheek and gently rubs a small circle into it before pulling away. “Take it easy tonight. Don’t worry about working.”

“But --” You quickly object, pouting slightly.

“No buts,  _ alor’ika _ .” Wolffe clicks his tongue and waves you off towards your quarters. “Rest.”

You sigh, staring up at Wolffe before turning down the hallway, continuing towards your quarters. 

The evening wears on - you quietly skip dinner, as your appetite has eluded you. It seemed to have disappeared right around your first coughing fit and the shower… and you had no idea when it’d be back, with the rate that you’re coughing at. 

You started the night by propping yourself up in bed, a datapad in your lap. You were in your blacks - they were more comfortable than your pajamas at this point - and, as Wolffe asked, you didn’t work. You instead read one of the novels you’d been meaning to get to since you’d started with the Wolfpack - a romance one you deep down really enjoyed. Not like you’d let anyone find out, but the series was cute. (And raunchy.  _ Definitely  _ the reason that no one should ever know what files are on your datapad.)

But as you attempted to lay down, a fit took over you. Loudly, and for a good twenty seconds. It was dry and hurt, chest tightening as you sat up, covering your mouth to muffle the noise. This repeated for a good three hours - you’d pick your book up for a little longer, and turn, and a fit would come over you. Sometimes, it’d be brief; others were longer and shook you violently.

It’s late now, and you’re sure you’re keeping someone up. Guilt gnaws at your empty stomach at the thought - the pack has training in the morning and you’d hate to keep them from getting much-needed sleep.

Outside your door, Wolffe hesitates at the keypad.

He’s heard you coughing all night - and now that it’s 0300, he feels like he needs to intervene. Not on his behalf, or on the behalf of the rest of the Clone Troopers in the Wolfpack, but on  _ yours _ .

He’s worried. 

And at the sound of another long and painful coughing fit, Wolffe finally keys into your room.

You look up from your position, a blanket around your shoulders - surprise, then guilt crosses your features as you sigh. “Am I -” you start, grimacing as you cough, “keeping you up?”

“Not why I’m here,” Wolffe says, shaking his head. He promptly sits on the edge of your bed, where you’re folded in half and resting against your knees. “You need to sleep.” His hand brushes the hair back from your forehead, smoothing the wisps down.

You lean into the touch, sighing before another coughing fit rattles you. “I’ll be fine,” you mumble, groaning as you finally regain the ability to speak.

“Not if you keep this up,” Wolffe counters, worry lines settling into his forehead. “I can tell you haven’t been to the med bay… alor’ika, you’ve  _ got  _ to take care of yourself.” His voice drops, and you can tell he’s using his  _ commander  _ voice. It’s low and were you not sick, it’d tickle you down to your toes.

“I said ‘m fine,” you grumble, shying away from his touch. You feel  _ awful _ , knowing that Wolffe was still awake because you’re too busy hacking up a lung.

“I guess we’re doing this the hard way, huh?” He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.” Wolffe wraps an arm around your back, the other snaking between your legs to lift you up. He pulls you off the bed, blanket included, and holds you to his chest, lips in a firm line.

“Wolffe -” you start to object until you start coughing, curling up in his arms. 

“See? You’re not fine. You shouldn’t be coughing like that. I felt it,” he says softly, shaking his head. The door slides open as he carries you out, heading directly towards the medbay. 

You suffer another coughing fit again, one that feels never-ending as you wheeze and gasp for air. It causes your chest and stomach to tighten and you’re glad you had no appetite earlier, otherwise this may have ended poorly. 

Wolffe tightens his grip on you, a sigh rumbling in his chest. He doesn’t like seeing you like this, and he can tell you don’t like  _ him _ seeing you like this. 

Upon entering the medbay, you notice that Wolffe seems to get priority attention. You wonder if it’s because you’re hacking up a lung in the middle of the waiting room, or if it’s because the nurses have a thing for the clone commander, or… Your thought leaves you halfway as you blink, a little confused. The coughing is making you delirious, it seems, coupled with the lack of appetite and sleep. 

You’re soon sitting on a bed, legs swinging over the edge as Wolffe talks to the nurse. Your head hurts, and you keep upright in an effort to reduce the number of coughing fits you experience. The blanket sits around your shoulders again, and you wonder absent-mindedly if the nurse thinks you’re together with Wolffe.

You’re not.

Not quite. Not officially? Just…  _ close _ . It’s nice.

As she scans you, asking you to take deep breaths, you watch Wolffe carefully despite your eyes feeling so heavy. You were so tired, it’s late, and yet he’s there, a scowl faint on his features. 

“Thankfully you caught it early, Commander. We can start treating the symptoms immediately - which will help her feel less like the pile of goop that she is,” the nurse states, very clearly talking to Wolffe and  _ not _ you. “I’ll give you some medications for her, but other than that, she’ll have to ride the cough out. Make sure she rests.”

“Thank you,” Wolffe nods, his attention still focused on you.

You blink, and you’re back in Wolffe’s arms, coughing solidly every few seconds. Some were light, others - like before - made you fold in half, leaving you gasping for air. His grip tightens on your arm and you lean into him, just like when you have your nightmares.

“You’ll be okay,” he says under his breath. 

It’s partially for you - to tell you that everything is fine. But it’s also for him - he doesn’t need to feel the guilt like he had back on Bakura, where he worked you into passing out.

He still feels terrible about how that mission ended.

Wolffe gently places you on the bed, adjusting the pillows so you’re able to sit in an upright position. He taps idly at the comms bracer he wears, a look on his face you can’t read before he starts taking out the different medications you’d been prescribed.

“C’mon, take these,” he hums, handing you some small pills. 

You blink, taking them with a sip from your canteen. It’s pushing 0400, you realize, as you glance down at your datapad. 

“Go t’bed, Wolffe,” you mumble, confused as to  _ why _ exactly Wolffe was still standing in front of you. Your stomach rumbles and you wonder what medications you’d been given. You probably should have asked, but you trusted the medical professionals and your commander.

“Hang on,” he mutters, toeing out of his boots. He leaves his comms bracer on your desk with the remaining medication before crawling in behind you.

“Wolffe -” you start, confused as to why he wouldn’t want a few hours of peaceful sleep before training, but he pulls you against his chest as he leans back.

“C’mon,  _ alor’ika, _ ” he purrs, nosing your ear. “I know you sleep better when I’m here. I wouldn’t be doing any good leaving you alone.”

You cough and splutter, but he’s  _ right _ . You settle against his chest, pulling the blankets over the both of you as Wolffe puts his hands over your waist.

The medication kicks in quickly and you’re out, drooling on Wolffe’s shoulder after you turned slightly in his arms. He rests his chin on the top of your head, wondering what it’d be like if this was the  _ norm - _ the two of you, asleep together in each other’s arms. No nightmares, no sickness, just the two of you, healthy and tangled in each other’s limbs. 

His thumb gently traces your cheek as he sends a silent thank you to General Plo Koon.


End file.
